


Everything

by thepriexperience



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gentle Sex, M/M, Rickyl, Sweet Sex, bottom!daryl, gods i really hope everyone likes this, i've been screaming in my head with joy as i've been writing this, lovemaking, reunited and it feeeeeels so good, rick x daryl, top!rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8843161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepriexperience/pseuds/thepriexperience
Summary: Set immediately after the events of 7x08, starting with the hug heard 'round the world and moving on to later that night. This takes place in a world where everything is the same, except that Michonne is single, and Rick and Daryl are together. Obviously. 
It's been weeks since Rick's seen Daryl, and they are finally together again. The coming war can wait just one night.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceless/gifts).



> All my love to blackraspberry, who I only met today, and who watched me write the majority of this fic in Google Docs. Thank you for screaming at me with joy!

_Daryl_.

Rick can’t see anything but him, and the world fades, narrows to the man he didn’t know was finally free, the man he’d failed; he approaches slowly, though he wants to run, not sure of himself. 

_Are we still_ , he asks without speaking, _do you still_.

Daryl nods, tries to smile but it breaks halfway through, and he bends, makes himself smaller and steps into Rick’s space. Rick’s heart pounds hard in his chest as they touch, as they come together, Daryl’s face in his neck. His lover, his sweetheart, his _everything_ in his arms again, and the ache inside him starts to subside, just this simple warmth chasing it away. _Daryl._

He holds the man close, hand on the back of his head, his fingers in long tangled hair, Daryl’s breath on his skin. Rick closes his eyes, his tears not falling, and he breathes in the scent of him, of earth and sweat and home. They still fit, always have, and Daryl shakes like he can’t believe it, like he’s forgotten, and Rick clings to him tighter, every line of them pressed together sweetly, perfectly.

He finally opens his eyes, but keeps Daryl against him for another few beats, staring off into the distance to remind himself he’s awake. He isn’t sure when he stopped believing in God: Some time when they were on the farm, after he killed what used to be a little girl. And now, his man in his arms again, _safe_ and _alive_ and _warm_ , Rick thinks he sees God’s face for the first time in his life, believes again like he never has before.

_Thank You_ , he thinks, as Daryl pulls away, and he looks into the tired eyes he loves so much. _Thank You for bringing him home to me._

 

*

 

It’s later, much later, when the sun goes down and the Hilltop is cloaked in moonlight, that they’re finally alone. Jesus has offered up his trailer for them, and Rick took the keys without any argument. Daryl hadn’t said a word, just nodded, at Rick’s side and half a step behind. He wants to reach back, take his lover’s hand, but he’s still unsure of them, of the _us_ they used to be. He takes Daryl’s closeness as a good sign, lets them into their borrowed home for the night, then locks the door behind them. 

It’s perfectly quiet, only the sound of their breathing in the small quarters, barely an arm’s length apart.

“Daryl,” says Rick, because it’s the only word that matters, because it means more than anything else does.

The man nods, sighs, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion and something else, something darker and more painful, and Rick reaches out hesitantly, only letting himself touch when Daryl leans forward almost imperceptibly. He’s shaking under Rick’s hand still, and Rick isn’t sure if it’s from fatigue or emotion.

“Rick.”

Daryl’s voice is rough, and he clears his throat, takes such a small step forward he barely moves at all. It’s up to Rick to close the distance, and he does, mere inches between them now, both his hands on his man now, his palms curved around Daryl’s arms.

“Are we… I’m sorry, Daryl,” he whispers, afraid to ruin the quiet, the peace. “I tried, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I failed, I.”

“You always done right by all of us. You were just tryin’ to do that.”

“I messed up.”

Daryl nods, but it’s not judgmental or angry, and then Rick sees it in his eyes, in the tilt of his head, a response that he won’t speak aloud.

_I fucked up too._

“Daryl,” he says again. He doesn’t want to think about everything that happened that led them to this moment; he just wants to _live in it_ for as long as he can. He asks, slowly, “You want to take a shower?”

“Cleaned up when I got here, but yeah. Yeah, shower sounds good.”

“Can I…”

_Please_. _Please,_ thinks Rick, restrains himself from begging, but he doesn’t have to. Daryl nods another time, and lets Rick take his hand.

He undresses Daryl as he waits for the water to get hot, the spray loud against the walls of the shower, and he tries not to let out any sound when each layer he removes yields more abuse on his lover’s form. He doesn’t focus on them, not now, largely keeping his eyes on Daryl’s, reading the shame therein like the pages of a book. It’s been so long since Daryl has looked at him like this, not since the first several times they made love. He’d only just become confident when Negan took him from Rick, and the old and all-too familiar look will be on Rick’s conscience for the rest of his days.

“You’re beautiful.” He doesn’t mean to say it, but he doesn’t try to take it back. It’s true. Even broken and bruised, Daryl is beautiful. “You’re so fuckin’ strong.”

Daryl only leans in, brushes their noses together, pulls at the shirt on Rick’s shoulders.

Rick gets himself undressed much faster than he did Daryl, and soon, he’s stepping in behind Daryl, staring at the long, lean back in front of him. He recognizes the scars, water sluicing over the marred skin, skin that isn’t as strong or indestructible as the man it belongs to. Rick takes in each hurt, old and new, on Daryl’s body. Scars from before the world fell, when his father was the worst monster he faced, lashes from a belt buckle, burn marks from cigarettes. And now, bruises, blossoming along his ribs and sides, a loss of weight he didn’t need. Rick takes them all on as his burden, as his fault, and he steps forward, his chest to Daryl’s back, wraps his arms around Daryl’s middle, sighing in relief when his lover’s hands find his own, kissing the soft curve where neck meets shoulder as Daryl laces their fingers together and tips his head back. Rick lifts his mouth to press tenderly against Daryl’s cheek, his jaw.

“I love you,” he says, for the first time. “I shoulda said it before. Always felt it, but I shoulda told you.”

Daryl flinches, but Rick pulls him closer, careful not to hurt him, careful of the bruises that speak of a beating, tucks Daryl’s  shoulder under his chin.

“I mean it, Daryl. I love you.”

“Shouldn’t.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” says Rick patiently, turns his head to nuzzle at Daryl’s jawline.

They stand there for long moments, warm beneath the water’s spray, pressed tight to one another. Rick breathes deep and slow, waits for Daryl’s to match his, content to stand here until his man isn’t. Daryl starts to relax, just the littlest bit, and Rick hums low in his throat, stroking the backs of Daryl’s fingers with the tips of his own, swaying the two of them just the slightest bit from side to side, keeps their cheeks pressed together.

“I love you.” The words are a soft growl, rumbling through Daryl’s chest. “Shoulda told you before too.”

Rick moves back, just far enough that he can turn his man in the circle of his arms, so he can see his eyes, see the truth reflected in them, already sure that he’ll find it. He’s known Daryl loves him, just like Daryl’s known too; but this, this matters. Everything matters in this world. There are no small things.

They move together, like they always have, and their lips touch, soft and firm, and Rick groans, Daryl sighs, mouths parting so they can taste each other again. Daryl tastes like the apples they had at dinner, sharp and sweet, just the littlest bit sour. Their hands tangle in each other’s hair, forcefully keeping them close, legs slotting together, slick chests and stomachs gliding against one another. Everything is warm and soft and safe, and it’s exactly what Rick has wanted for them for so long, why he took the chance on Alexandria, for his family, for Daryl before the man was his.

It’s hard to pull away, but he reaches for shampoo, amazed there is any, washes Daryl’s hair, tenderly threads his fingers through the tangles, working the knots free with infinite care. His man mumbles and keens under his attention, stubbornly trying to stifle those perfect, sweet sounds.

“You ain’t gotta hide from me, Daryl,” he says. “S’just us. S’okay.”

He rinses the shampoo from Daryl’s hair, lets his man do the same for him, dust from the trip here swirling down the drain. Rick grabs a bar of soap, lathers his hands, then runs them as lightly as he can over Daryl’s chest, the still healing wound on his shoulder; he lathers them again, soap making his journey across bruises painless and easy, down to the nest of curls at Daryl’s groin, where he’s still soft and remains that way, even as Rick takes him into his hands. Rick doesn't comment, just turns Daryl around, repeats until he’s on his knees behind his lover, cleans Daryl’s most intimate of places with as much tenderness as he can.

Daryl’s calves are tight, and when Rick glances up, massaging the overworked muscles, he can see the strong arms braced on the wall in front of his man. His feet are cracked and blistered, and Rick croons in sympathy, stands up to turn the shower off.

“C’mon.”

He finds towels on the towel rack and hands one to Daryl, not wanting to push his luck by drying his lover as well, surprised when Daryl does just that to him, starting at his face, squeezing the hair into the towel. Rick stares, unashamed, as Daryl rubs him down, his own manhood starting to twitch a little at the only attention it’s had in weeks, but he doesn’t try for anything, summons his self control and steps out of the shower, waiting for his man to follow. There’s a bottle of lotion beside the sink, and Rick grabs for it, steps out of the bathroom and into the main room with Daryl, motions for the man to sit and kneels in front of him, a towel around Daryl’s waist.

He pulls one hurt foot into his lap, slowly rubs lotion into the abused skin. Daryl hisses, from both pain and relief and pleasure, looking at Rick through his bangs. Rick presses his thumb into the arch, drags it upward, the lotion easing his path, and Daryl groans, not bothering to try to quiet himself anymore.

“Feet been fuckin’ hurtin’ like a bitch,” he admits. It’s rare that Daryl complains, and Rick takes the admission as the show of trust it is.

“I bet.” Rick sets the one in his hands down and picks up the other, squeezes lotion into his hands, rubs them together to make sure it’s warm before he touches Daryl’s skin. His feet are rough, scraping against the callouses on Rick’s hands. Like he had with the first, he makes sure that he works over every inch, soaking up the little sounds Daryl makes. “What about your shoulder?”

“It’s healin’ okay.”

Rick leans up on his knees, Daryl’s foot resting on his naked thigh. “Doctor have a look when you get back?”

“Yeah.”

He presses their foreheads together, sighs, two strong arms coming around his bare shoulders, fingers resting at the nape of his neck. He breathes deeply, letting all of this sink in. _Daryl_. Daryl is here, with him.

His knees creak when he stands up, and Daryl stands with him, grumbling a little, takes Rick’s hand and lets himself be led to the bed, almost falling onto it, as though he’s only just now let himself feel how tired he is. Rick’s tired too, but he knows he’ll stay awake long after Daryl drifts off, just watching, still reveling in the reality of this.

Daryl doesn’t close his eyes, though; he faces Rick, a hand resting on the ball of Rick’s shoulder, thumb stroking the soft indent beside his collarbone. Rick breathes deeply, reaches to touch Daryl’s hip, squeezes carefully, scoots closer. Like Daryl had earlier, he brushes his nose against his man’s, then ghosts a kiss over his lips.

Daryl responds, tilts his head, pulls Rick in closer, rocks his hips forward, bumping into Rick’s. Their kiss is made of apples and each other, the dark flavor of the first smoke Daryl’d had in ages, the black coffee Rick likes to drink at the end of a meal. They groan and sigh, rocking together in slow, unhurried motions, relearning each other. Rick can feel every rib on Daryl’s side, and it hurts him, but he pushes it away in favor of other things he feels. Daryl’s lotioned feet rubbing against his, Daryl’s breath in his mouth, Daryl’s hands on his back, his face, his thighs. Daryl’s fingertips dragging up his side, fingers pushing through his still drying curls.

Rick kisses across Daryl’s cheek, bites down lightly on his earlobe, the way he knows his man likes, rewarded by a sound of pleasure, hips pressing hard into his own. He combs his fingers through Daryl’s hair, working his way down his lover’s jaw, down his throat, nipping gently, soothing the sharp away with his tongue. Their legs are tangled together, and Rick can feel himself beginning to get hard, knows Daryl can too, pushing himself against his lover as hard as he can.

“Want you,” Daryl rasps, leaning his head back so it’s easier for Rick to kiss his neck, lick the hollow of his throat.

“You sure?”

Because just as Daryl can feel his growing erection, Rick can feel Daryl’s lack of one. Rick reaches between them, cupping Daryl’s groin in his hand, gentle in his touch.

“Ain’t really ‘bout that,” says Daryl, tipping his head to make his meaning clear. “Just. Just wanna be close to you. Close as I can be.” He hesitates, shy like he hasn’t been with Rick in a while. “Just wanna feel you.”

“Okay,” breathes Rick. “Okay, darlin’. You got me.”

He rolls Daryl onto his back, slipping between his man’s thighs, kissing his way down Daryl’s body, beard brushing over Daryl’s bruises, careful not to hurt him, hands on Daryl’s hips. He nuzzles at Daryl’s manhood, kisses the crease of his pelvis and thigh, then sinks between Daryl’s legs, pulling them over his shoulders. Daryl gasps softly in anticipation, cants his hips upwards, and Rick lets his hands slip beneath Daryl’s back, pulls apart the cheeks of Daryl’s ass to give himself access. He nuzzles again, this time at the soft skin behind Daryl’s sack, then licks a soft strip over his lover’s entrance, not disappointed by the beautiful moan that escapes from Daryl’s mouth.

Daryl tastes like soap and himself, hot and welcoming Rick’s tongue inside him. Rick loses himself in what he’s doing, time a distant concept, the apocalypse itself completely forgotten for right now, as he pleases Daryl, circling his most intimate spot, to push inside, love him with his mouth, his lips and tongue, drawing the sweetest sounds from his lover. Daryl palms the back of his head, nails against Rick’s scalp, urging him to keep going, as though Rick would stop. He pushes his hips into the sheets, his erection full and aching now, wanting more than just the soft yield of the mattress. Rick could do this forever; maybe he does. Daryl rocks into his face, into his mouth, almost whining with the pleasure of what Rick’s doing.

It only spurs Rick on, driving his tongue deeper inside his lover, coaxing out more of those wonderful sounds, desperate for them after so long. He licks at Daryl’s entrance, laving his tongue over the sensitive, twitching skin, sinks back inside that irresistible heat once more, his groan stifled against Daryl’s muscles.

“Rick. Rick, please.”

Daryl pushes him away, and Rick looks up at him, presses a kiss to the inside of one shaking thigh.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“You. Want you,” he says roughly.

Rick dips his head to kiss Daryl’s hip bone, runs his mouth across his stomach, kisses his belly button. He reaches into the bedside drawer, hoping to find what they need, because he’s never liked lotion as a lubricant. He isn't disappointed, getting lucky when he finds a small bottle beneath the glossy pages of a magazine. Daryl lets out a heavy breath of what Rick recognizes as a relief, and Rick settles back above him, kisses him gently, moans when Daryl deepens it, tastes apples again.

Rick shifts, supports his weight on an elbow, his hip pressed hard against Daryl’s thigh, and uncaps the bottle with one hand. Daryl takes it from him, coats Rick’s fingers with slick, turns his head to kiss Rick again. Rick slips his hand between them, touches his fingertips to Daryl’s entrance, stroking the wet skin for just a few seconds, enjoying the way Daryl trembles at his gentle touch. He pushes one finger inside his lover’s willing body, his tongue tasting Daryl’s cigarette and red apple, tight heat clutching his knuckles. He works his finger in and out, opening up Daryl’s inner walls, Daryl clinging to him, arching into him, and Rick pushes forward, his manhood brushing against Daryl’s, which has grown, not fully hard, and Rick makes a soft sound in the back of his throat.

“Feels good,” says Daryl. “But, don't think I can…”

“S’okay, darlin’. You wanta keep goin’?”

“‘Course.”

Rick presses a second finger inside along the first, and Daryl whines as his body stretches to accept the fullness, reminding Rick exactly long it’s been since he’s been able to do this. He doesn't comment, but he kisses Daryl, swallows down the needy little whimpers, moving his fingers in and out, moving them the right way to hit that sweet spot inside his lover, rewarded again by Daryl’s pleasure and the way he pushes hard onto Rick’s hand.

“Darlin’,” Rick mumbles. “Daryl.”

“Rick.” The voice is breathless, Rick's name a gasp against his lips. “Rick…”

“Daryl.”

He kisses him again as he pushes a third finger inside, Daryl’s body opening up to him with little resistance. He works his fingers inside his man, stretching him, not wanting to hurt him at all, sure of his actions in a way he never was as a younger man. He knows his lover, knows his body and his mind, his soul, even, and he knows every sound Daryl can make. He lets the whimpers and gasps guide him, follows the movements of Daryl’s hips, pays attention to how tight Daryl holds onto him. Finally, he pulls his hand away, reaches for the little bottle held in Daryl’s fingers, watches as Daryl coats his palm with more slick, caps the bottle and then stretches out his arm to drop it onto to bedside table.

Rick lets out a moan when he touches himself, working the slick along his length, turning so that he’s hovering over his man, the head of his manhood pressed against Daryl’s entrance. He wipes his hand on the sheet and reaches for Daryl’s, laces their fingers together as he pushes inside him, just far enough to join them, groaning deeply, watching Daryl’s face for any sign of discomfort.

“Rick.”

He rolls his hips forward, gliding into Daryl like the man was made for him, until there is no separation between the two of them. Daryl lets out a shaking breath, brings his knees up to cradle Rick’s body, bring him deeper, shifts back and then forward, causing them both to groan with sensation. Rick squeezes Daryl’s hand, brushes his knuckles tenderly against Daryl’s cheek and his man leans into the caress, kisses the fingertips of Rick’s hand.

He moves carefully, Daryl’s manhood brushing against his stomach, and he loves every motion of Daryl’s body that meets his own. This feels so good, so _right_ , every kiss, every touch. The way Daryl scrapes his nails across his shoulder blades, trails his fingers down his spine and grips him tightly to pull them tighter together. It sparks across his skin, his manhood surrounded by heat and slick, and when Rick lets go of Daryl’s hand to grasp his thigh and angle him higher, Daryl slides his fingers into Rick’s curls to bring him to his mouth for another kiss. Daryl’s manhood has filled completely, and it pushes insistently against Rick’s belly, but Daryl takes Rick’s hand away, puts it back on his thigh.

“‘m good,” is all he says, and if that's how he feels, it’s good enough for Rick.

He understands, not chasing an orgasm himself; this is all the relief he needs, to be wrapped up in Daryl, breathing in his scent, tasting his lips and the sweat on his neck, rocking into him to draw those desperate sweet moans from his throat.

“Trade me places,” says Daryl.

Rick rolls them, sliding out of Daryl’s heat with a moan, but they're only separated for a moment before Daryl sinks back onto him, joining their bodies again. He lays against Rick’s chest, tucking his head into Rick’s neck, wraps his arms under Rick’s back to palm his shoulders, holding on with everything he has. Rick wraps his arms around Daryl, palm against the back of his neck, fingers in his hair, keeping his man as close as he can, letting Daryl set their pace, easing himself up as Daryl shifts himself backwards, every motion drawing more pleasure from them both.

He kisses Daryl’s forehead, pulls his face back, dips his head so their lips meet again and again, until they're breathless, Daryl hiding his face in Rick’s throat.

“Rick. Rick.”

He knows that voice, has memorized every beautiful note, and he groans.

“Daryl.”

He hasn't been trying to come, but their passion has crept up on them both, rising slowly but surely, and he’s almost there, right on that edge.

“Let me look at you,” begs Rick, and Daryl cranes his head, lifts up just barely enough so their gazes can lock.

The love, the intimacy, the need he finds in Daryl’s eyes undoes him, and what Daryl finds reflected in Rick’s own gaze sends him over as well. It isn't the most powerful pleasure Rick has ever felt, but it spreads low throughout him, until it sears into his very bones, his muscles relaxing and warming with it. And he drops his head back against the pillow, Daryl’s cheek pressed against his chest as his own orgasm finishes, leaving little trace of it on their skin.

He rests his palm against the back of Daryl’s head, rubbing circles into his man’s scalp as he tugs his arm tighter around Daryl’s middle.

“I love you,” says Rick. “Won't ever stop.”

“I thought about ya every day.” Daryl’s words are thick, landing in hard breaths against Rick’s skin. “Seein’ you at Alexandria, hurt to look and remember, knowin’ I couldn't… I love you too, Rick.”

“That’s all that matters. We’re together now. It’s everything.” He sighs contentedly when Daryl nestles deeper into his hold. “You're mine.”

Daryl nods in agreement. Neither of them makes to move, even though it’s a long time before they sleep, curled around each other desperately.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write for this pairing for a long time, but breaking into a new fandom and pairing is much like learning to walk again. I tried to write a similar story last week, and it didn't turn out very well. I'm sincerely hoping y'all like it, so please, don't be shy. Let me know, and let's be friends!
> 
> You can find me on the-pri-experience.tumblr.com as well. :)


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